Ashen Angel
by HowCouldThisHappenToMe
Summary: Diamond looks back on his time with Ash, the girl who'd taken him in when no one else would, and his feelings for her. Written in Diamond's POV. Slightly Diamond-Ash, if you keep in mind what happened in the book.


**I just finished reading _Green Angel_ today, after a friend recommended I read it. After I finished, I decided there needed to be something in Diamond's point of view. Hopefully I've kept this true to character.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Green Angel_ or any of the characters. It all belongs to Alice Hoffman.**

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A gentle summer breeze caressed my skin, rustling the leaves of the newly born trees. I closed my eyes, allowing the wave of comfort to surround me for the brief moment. I had never found my mother. Didn't think I was going to, but I continued to search. Forgetting about her would be like forgetting myself; forgetting Ash. I wasn't going to allow that. I took a drink of water from the thermos, but it did little to soothe my throat. Nothing did anymore, since the conflagration. I'd lost my speech, my mother, and my hope. What I'd found was Ash.

She took me in when no one else would. She didn't run from me, like so many before. She wasn't frightened of my cold appearance, of the old, singed black clothes with the hood pulled far enough over my face to hide my identity, my scars. In fact, she was just as protected as I, if not more. Those thorns protruded darkly from her tough leather jacket, as did the rusted nails from her boots. I suspected those boots did not belong to her, judging by the way she always trudged along in them, as though trying not to trip over herself. Her raven hair was short, appearing to be hacked off of her own doing, and her skin was marked with ink. She was beautiful, in a stronger sense of the word than most are able to comprehend.

Ash had given up hope, as had I in the beginning. We understood each other in a way I'd never understood someone before. I never spoke, was unable to. She rarely spoke to me, but that didn't make a difference. I knew her as though she'd been in my life since the day I was born. We were lost in a world of tragedy, unable to find a glimmer of hope. Then, I saw it, in her garden. It was burnt, destroyed by looters and birds. I worked long and hard, mending that garden, just as one would work to mend a heart.

Slowly, my heart was mended, through Ash. I took strength from her, and she from me. I'd found her one night, inking her skin as she had before I'd arrived. Much of her chest was exposed, but there as only one patch of that ivory flesh to which she'd been born. Half of what had recently been pure skin above her heart was newly inked, bleeding slightly from the needle she had used. She hadn't heard me, which was not uncommon. I took her hand in mind, catching her slightly be surprise, and placed the hand holding the needle to my own heart. In my flesh, Ash made half of the image reflected on her chest. She etched half a rose, half a wing, half a thorn, half a leaf. When she'd finished, I removed my hood, finally revealing my identity to her, half of which was charred and discolored. I knew she would not fear that side of me. I was proven correct when she kissed both sides of my face, the marred and unmarred.

I hated having to leave her. I felt obligated to find my mother, though, and Ash knew that. I was wearing the denim jacket she had traded for me. I had my backpack with me as I stood at the gate. Ash knew I was leaving, and knew my reasons. Maybe that was why she gave me what she could. Maybe that was why she didn't try to stop me. I wished I could have told her just how much she'd done for me. She'd mended my heart, renewed my hope. No words would form in my throat. Instead, I held her close to me, having little regard for the thorns she wore for protection, and kissed her before setting off down the road. I knew she had understood the meaning of my actions.

She had half of my heart with her, and I carried half of hers. I often stared down at my chest to see the ink she'd placed on my skin, just above my heart. Slowly, subtly, the black ink began to grow color. No longer was it the cold harshness of the blackened world we'd come out of. Instead, it had slowly turned green around the edges. In the center, it was red. We'd both been through hell together, and together, we'd pulled each other out.

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**Please review and tell me how I've done.**


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